


love is really nothing

by penelopes



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, M/M, Pining, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-29
Updated: 2012-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-22 19:42:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/613541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penelopes/pseuds/penelopes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam tells himself that in twenty years he will look back on all of this and laugh. He will. He’ll laugh and he will not think about how much he’s loved and lost and never been the same since. He’ll look back on his early twenties as a phase; he was in love with his best friend who didn't love him back in the proper way, but he got over it. He picked himself up, he moved out, and he got over it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	love is really nothing

**Author's Note:**

> First Liam/Louis piece that I've written, so please bear with me, because I've also not written for a while.
> 
> Any mistakes are mine and a result of staying up all night to write this. But if any mistakes are completely horrendous, please do tell me.
> 
> Title from Edge of Desire by John Mayer.

Liam tells himself that in twenty years he will look back on all of this and laugh. He _will_. He’ll laugh and he will not think about how much he’s loved and lost and never been the same since. He’ll look back on his early twenties as a phase; he was in love with his best friend who didn’t love him back in the proper way, but he got over it. He picked himself up, he moved out, and he _got over it._

In twenty years none of this will matter. So what if one night he got pissed and yelled and said everything he didn’t mean to say, but said it anyway, and Louis had cried and so had he, and Louis kissed his tears away because he couldn’t love him back in the way that he needed. _So what._

In twenty years he will _laugh._

-

It starts the same way that all of the other stories start. (It probably finishes the same way too, but.)

Liam can’t remember the day of the week that he first met Louis. He just remembers an obnoxiously loud and pretty kid with a striped shirt and red trousers sitting beside him during free period, stealing pieces of his chocolate, and making a lewd comment about how big Liam’s hands are, one eyebrow cocked and an obscene look in his eyes.

“I’m Louis,” he’d said, a smile on his face that made the corners of his eyes crinkle because it was so wide and bright and _beautiful_ and Liam remembers it actually hurting to look at him; something aching and flipping around in his stomach. He’d stuttered a little, and, “Liam,” he’d said, a small smile stretching across his face.

Louis had sat beside him every day after that. Liam had tried to remember if he’d seen Louis before. How could he _not?_ He was frivolous and loud and crass, charming, funny, pretty—he was terribly annoying and endearing all tied together with good intentions, a raspy voice, and a smile that took Liam’s insides and knotted them up.

But no, he’d never seen Louis before the day that he sat beside him and declared himself Liam’s new best friend. He never really got rid of Louis after that, not that he _wanted_ to get rid of Louis—he’d told Liam that once, that he can’t get rid of him. He’d pulled on Liam’s curls, voice light, smile bright; Liam believed him—they were best friends after that.

-

So it starts like all the other stories: They’re best friends and Liam falls in love with the way Louis falls asleep against his shoulder while they’re watching a film, the soft fringe that falls in his eyes when he’s studying Tolstoy for literature, how Louis steals most of the food off of his plate even though he has his own, the soft lull of his voice that puts Liam right to sleep.

It’s a cliché and premature and stupid and it’s _nothing_ really in the end, Liam thinks. He falls in love suddenly and all at once, toppling over onto his bed with his heart in his stomach, Louis’ tight grip on his wrist pulling him back up; a battle between two halves, pulling him in opposite directions. He wants to _get away_ , wants to not fall in love with his best mate; wants to love Louis and have Louis love him back. Sometimes he doesn’t know which way he’s being pulled. He stands up from his bed though, heart in his stomach, falls toward Louis—always towards Louis.

Nothing changes—nothing. And maybe, Liam thinks, that’s the worst part of it. He doesn’t _do_ anything—not really. He falls asleep with Louis pressed against his side, Louis’ fingertips pressed to the skin where Liam’s shirt has ridden up. But he doesn’t do anything about it. He doesn’t push Louis away so he can lie on the other side of the bed, at a distance to set himself away, to clear his mind. He doesn’t pull Louis closer, doesn’t wake him, doesn’t press his lips to the corner of Louis’; doesn’t do a single thing. He just closes his eyes, slips into a sleep that’s filled with fits of Louis’ laughter and Louis’ smile and Liam has the faint realization that he’s being a complete twat about all of this. He sleeps until morning, anyway.

Louis’ face is nestled into the crook of Liam’s neck when he wakes up. He’s startled awake by how cold it is in his room even with Louis’s body pressed all against his side and halfway on top of him. He’s cold, but Louis’ breath sputters out against his neck and he _likes_ it too much to move, to get up, to grab an extra blanket, to do anything but fall right back asleep.

-

Louis’ always dragging Liam to parties that Liam doesn’t want to go to because he doesn’t drink (“My kidney, Lou!”) or socialize with half of the people there. However, he still goes because Louis begs and pleads and acts like a twat every time Liam shrugs him off and mentions schoolwork.

This time is really no different.

“Li, it’s our final year of school. You’ve got to attend at least one social function to prepare for Uni.” His smile is staggeringly wide and perfect and Liam thinks he’s in absolute trouble because he’s already pushing his notebook away, sighing, and groaning out a, “fine, I’ll go.”

Louis smirks like he knew that it wouldn’t take much pushing before Liam finally gave in. “And who knows, maybe you’ll find a fit lad who reads _War and Peace_ for fun just like you, mate!” He’s laughing wholeheartedly, his eyes crinkling, obviously proud of himself for the jab he’s made.

All Liam feels is a push and pull of knots in his stomach, almost like he might be sick right on the floor of his bedroom. _Maybe you’ll find a fit lad_ , the words playback over and over in Liam’s mind in a span of six seconds. He doesn’t think _no, I want you, you idiot_ , definitely doesn’t say that either. It takes him a faltered moment before he manages a small chuckle. “Yeah, maybe.” He thinks maybe tonight will be the night that he stops using his kidney as an excuse for not drinking, thinks maybe tonight he’ll get properly pissed.

Or, maybe it’s completely different.

The party is at Niall’s house just like every other party seems to be at Niall’s house. There are hundreds of people at the party, spilling out of the front door, gathered on the lawn. The music is loud and rattling Liam’s head already. Everything’s loud—Niall’s voice in Liam’s ear as he shouts that he’s glad he’s decided to show up. Louis scoffs, takes all the credit for Liam’s being there, his hand still bunched in the fabric of Liam’s t-shirt in the back so that he doesn’t lose him in the crowd. Liam wants to vomit.

Niall only laughs before he’s running off, his beer sloshing out of the side of his cup, shouting something nonsensical at a bunch of lads down by the garden wall.

“’M gonna grab a beer,” Liam says, doesn’t really care if Louis can hear him or not. He just needs to get away from Louis, hates that he needs to get away, but still walks away without another word. He can still feel the burn of Louis’ fingers against his back even as he stands on the other side of the room by the keg.

The beer doesn’t taste as bad as Liam remembers, doesn’t burn his mouth, his throat, his insides; doesn’t really seem to do anything to him. The second one kind of loosens him up a bit though, makes him feel a little lighter. By his third beer he can’t find Louis in the crowd and doesn’t really _care_ about where Louis is. There’s a light buzzing in his head that thrums along with the music and he feels good and right and loose and _different._

He talks a lot with a group of guys from his literature class, let’s one pet at the back of his head as he stands too close to Liam, his breath hot and nasty, and Liam’s nursing his fourth—or fifth, he can’t be sure—beer so he doesn’t really tell him to stop.

Then _somehow_ he’s pushed into the throng of people trying to dance to electric pop music, laughing with his head thrown back. He moves along with this guy—and somewhere in the back of his mind a voice is telling him, _Liam you can’t even remember his name don’t be stupid_ —and does not listen to the stupid voice in his head. The guy’s back is flush against Liam’s front and Liam’s _hot_ ; sweat making his fringe stick to his forehead, the hair at the base of his neck curl. His shirt feels like it’s suffocating him, collar tight around his neck; jeans too tight, too thick, _trapping_ him. But he feels _good_ , so good with this guy pressed against the front of him, the music loud and throbbing in his head, his body moving at its own accord.

There are teeth pressed against his neck, nipping and piercing his skin and he wants to pull away for a split second, but then a second later a tongue is darting out to soothe the pain, only leaving a dull ache behind. Liam’s mouth goes in search of the lips, the teeth, pure desire bubbling inside of him.

Their teeth clash together violently a couple of times before there’s a smoothness that overtakes them and the guy—this lovely, tall, handsome lad who Liam means to get the name of—runs his tongue over the seam of Liam’s lips and he opens them again so easily that he should be ashamed, but he’s not.

They’re still in middle of the room, people pressing against them on all sides and Liam doesn’t think, somehow manages to stop his brain from focusing on anything other than the way this guy is pressing his fingers into Liam’s waist, his other hand needy and expansive as it grips the back of Liam’s neck.

Maybe it’s the alcohol. He can’t remember how many beers he’s had, can’t remember where Louis ran off to, can’t remember if he’s supposed to find Louis or if Louis’ supposed to find him and how is he getting home tonight? He’s thinking against, as his teeth bite down on this guy’s bottom lip, he’s thinking of _Louis._ Louis who he loves, but can’t tell him that he loves him; Louis who’s loud and crazy and Liam’s right _screwed_ because he can’t stop thinking about Louis. He suddenly pulls away, pressing his hands against this guy’s chest. He must be mumbling _I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so sorry_ because he’s looking back at Liam with confusion sketched all over his face and Liam suddenly feels terrible and embarrassed and a little like he might be sick all over Niall’s bushes once he leaves.

 _What on earth are you doing, Liam?_ The voice in the back of his mind is shouting at him, chastising him for his raw and swollen lips, the soft bruises on his neck from harsh kisses and teeth. He walks away as quickly as he can, pushing through hundreds of people as they laugh and drink and flail and he’s going to be sick _right now_ if he can’t get to the front door and outside away from everyone else, the loud music, the pounding in his head as his brain rattles around, knocking against his skull.

He makes it outside, finally, pushing people out of his way frantically. He makes it to the corner of the house, away from where most of the people are gathered. He leans back against the house; the bricks cool against his sweaty back, the cool air tangling in his lungs every time he inhales. He feels better—still like he just snogged a stranger at a house party, but less like he’s going to vomit in the bushes because of it.

He just needs to breathe and clear his head somehow because it is pounding and he doesn’t so much as feel drunk as he does nauseas—a headache pressing at the back of his eyes. He wants to go home, but first he needs to find Louis.

 _Louis._ Louis whom he loves and wants to hate and not love, but can’t. He has to find Louis because he doesn’t know what time it is, doesn’t know how long he was _snogging a complete stranger_ , doesn’t want to leave Louis at a party with no one to walk home with.

After a few long minutes of catching his breath and simultaneously banging his head back against the brick wall, he trudges back inside to find Louis.

It takes a while to find Louis who is upstairs pressed between the wall and a tall lanky guy. Liam doesn’t feel half as badly as he should for politely pushing between the two of them to grab at Louis’ wrist and tug. “Lou, you ready to go?”

Louis give him his lopsided smile which means he’s only another drink away from losing his footing when he walks down the stairs. But, maybe he already is at that state, Liam can’t be too sure because his mind’s still a little too fuzzy to analyze how Louis operates.

“Leeeeyum!” He shouts in his most obnoxious and drunken voice, breaking out into a fit of giggles halfway through. The lad who just had Louis pressed against the wall is staggering back, a loose grin on his face, dimples out of this _world_ and tattoos peeking out of his t-shirt. Liam’s not _staring_ , but even he can see why Louis had his tongue shoved down his throat. Not that Liam likes what he saw when he came upstairs, but what is he supposed to do about it. There’s nothing he has the _right_ do.

Anyway.

He sighs and digs his nail into the inside of Louis’ wrist as endearingly as possible to say _let’s go please._   “ _Lou_ ,” he says again, tugging gently. He can feel the effects the alcohol has had on him and faintly he thinks this is why he doesn’t drink.

Louis pushes off of the wall, presses a wet kiss against the guy’s mouth, before stumbling off with Liam, a giggle pushing past his lips, the skin of his wrist rubbing red against the pressure of Liam’s fingers.

-

They’re walking back to Liam’s house because it’s farther away and they need all the time they can get to sober up before Liam’s mom finds out that no, they in fact did not go over to Niall’s for a small get-together with chips and soda.

Liam feels incredibly sober already what with the fresh air and the thoughts swimming around in his mind telling him how much of a fool he is, images replaying in his mind of the teeth on his neck, Louis’ teeth biting down on that one guy’s bottom lip.

His head fucking _hurts_ like it’s never hurt before and Louis’ strings of nonsensical babbling only make his head throb more. “Lou, shut _up_ , please.” It comes out harsh and bitter and Liam bites his tongue until it hurts. Louis stops talking, stops giggling, stops walking. And Liam had forgotten that Louis is such a child when he’s pissed.

He stops walking and turns around to face Louis. He stands small and vulnerable in his stupid green trousers that Liam won’t ever understand other than they’re _Louis_ and striped blue and white shirt that shows the dip of his collarbone. Liam sighs, “It’s just my head fucking _hurts_ , Lou and you won’t shut up about whoever this Harry guy is. And I just want to get home so I can sleep and never drink again and I love you, but be quiet.” He finishes speaking with a huff, suddenly hot again where his shirt is buttoned all the way up to his neck. He unbuttons them, and turns around to keep walking.

Louis falls into a steady pace beside him, quieter now, drunk still, but less obnoxiously so. “Harry is the guy I was snogging, by the way.” His voice is low and Liam clears his throat and says, “oh, okay,” before Louis can go on and on about how much he fancies Harry because Liam knows Louis and knows that’s where he was going to take the conversation.

The walk back to his house takes longer than it should because Louis is still very much inebriated, but in the way that makes him thoughtful and loving and philosophical and _no_ , Liam doesn’t ever worry about whether the sky might literally fall on top of them one day while they’re trying to sleep, and _no_ , the sidewalk is not talking to them, and _yes,_ he does love Louis back.

By the time they reach the stoop of Liam’s house, all Liam wants to do is sleep for days and wake up to a tall glass of water and some aspirin. He’s not so much as tipsy or drunk as he feels fuzzy and achy and he honestly doesn’t plan on drinking for a long time. Louis hangs all over his right side as he drags him inside and up the stairs whilst pressing his hand over Louis’ mouth to keep him from giggling.

When inside his bedroom he helps Louis strip down to his pants, telling him to _please be quiet Lou_ as he sheds his own shirt and trousers.

Louis releases a small laugh, small hands pressed over his mouth to stifle it. Liam looks up at him and even though his eyes burns and all he wants to do is close them, they light up when he sees Louis looking quite _adorable_ and wow, he really needs to sleep.

He stands up straight to which Louis lets out a small gasp. “Liam _Payne_ ,” Louis starts, the smirk evident in his voice. Liam’s face contorts to match the confusion he feels. He doesn’t understand until Louis is standing in front of him, pressing two cool fingers to the deepening bruise on Liam’s neck.

Oh.

“Is that a _lovebite_?” He asks incredulously, his eyes wide with mirth; the smirk looking like it might stay permanently.

Liam stumbles over his word, the omnipresent pounding in his head speeding up, hammering against the back of his eyes as he squeezes them tight to string together words that sound like a sufficient answer. “I, maybe, I—well,” He blubbers out, “I may have snogged some guy who I think is in our literature class? I can’t really be sure. About the guy. I definitely made out with him, though. Yeah.” He poses the question, opening his eyes slowly because he doesn’t really want to see the look on Louis’ face.

And just like he expected, Louis is smirking ridiculously, “I did not know you had it in you, Li. I certainly did not.” _Me either,_ Liam thinks.

“S’why I won’t be drinking anymore.” He offers lamely, before crawling into his bed. Louis follows soon after, chuckling deeply.

“Maybe you should drink more often, actually. You seem to be quite the catch when under the influence.” He’s still smirking. Liam wants to do something like kiss it off his lips. He leans over and turns off the bedside light so that he doesn’t actually kiss him.

They fall asleep soon after; Louis pressed against Liam’s side like always, his skin hot against Liam’s and it’s almost uncomfortable, but Liam doesn’t do anything. He never does _anything_ , remember.

Right before he falls into his slumber he thinks he might feel the tips of Louis’ first two fingers running over the bruise on his neck. He can’t be quite sure though.

-

Liam applies to three different universities and is accepted to all of them. He’s surprised because he never _expects_ to do well. Louis rolls his eyes when Liam says this, mentions something about the entire week that he stayed stowed up in his room studying for exams and ignoring him and _Li, I’m still a little hurt over that_. “You’re also still as dramatic as ever,” Liam smirks at him playfully. Louis rolls his eyes.

The one university that Louis applies to accepts him. It’s one of the three universities that Liam applied to. He reads the letter out loud to his mother and his sisters, smiling the entire time, proud of himself. And when he reads it to Liam, he’s smiling so wide and bright and _beautiful,_ Liam isn’t really sure how to tell him that he doesn’t know if the plan they’ve had since year ten is going to be his plan anymore.

It’s just. The entirety of Liam’s teenage years has been Louis and the way he smiles and the way he cocks his head when he’s confused, this punch in the stomach that Liam feels every time he’s around Louis that has now become permanent because he’s _always_ _around_ _Louis_. He loves Louis; loves his teeth his collarbones his voice his desperate need to be loved wholesomely his hair when he wakes up in the morning. He _loves_ Louis; loves him so much that he isn’t sure it’s puppy love anymore, something his mother told him about when he was young. He thinks this is real and unrequited and he needs to get out while he can before he’s in too deep (he’s already in too deep, he thinks absently.)

And university could be different. University could be where Liam isn’t just the boy who’s hopelessly and stupidly in love with Louis. He could meet new people and have new friends and study music and literature and he could do well for himself. He _could._

Louis looks up after reading his acceptance letter and Liam’s heart leaps into his throat.

He could go to Poole for university or he could go to London. Louis looks at him with a gleam in his eye that stops Liam dead in his track. There’s that pull again, the one that splits him in half and he doesn’t know which way to go; away or toward. Louis smiles, Louis pulls.

Liam thinks he’ll probably fall.

-

Niall has another party to send everyone off and Louis drags Liam because it’s the last party before school ends. “Liam, _our last party as students_ , do you understand that? _Our last party._ ” He’s looking off into the distance to add a dramatic touch to his performance and Liam wants to laugh, can definitely see why Louis plans on studying drama.

He counters nonetheless, “Yes, and then there will be a hundred parties this summer that you will insist that we go to. Oh, and one last party right before university starts, and then a party because university _has_ started, and then—”

“Oh, bug _off_ ,” Louis pouts, shoving at Liam, who only laughs. “Just come with me, Li.”

Liam doesn’t understand why Louis insists that he go along, but. “Fine,” he says as he rolls his eyes. He always says yes in the end, but always rolls his eyes to stay dignified.

The party is just like the last one and the one before that and Niall is stupidly drunk as he slurs a greeting at them, before running away with a cup in hand. Louis is pulled away just as soon as they make it over the threshold, a drink shoved in his hand, a laugh escaping his lips. Louis fits here, Liam thinks, as he makes his way to the kitchen to grab a glass of anything that isn’t alcohol.

Louis looks good with a drink to his lips, his eyes bright, his laugh echoing off of someone’s speech, his fringe falling into his eyes, his body pressed against others as he dances. Louis looks _good_ here, Liam thinks, as something gnaws at the back of his mind; something like, _and you’re leaving him, you’re gonna leave him._

Liam shakes his head to free the thought.

-

He’s been at the party for over an hour, sipping gingerly from his cup of cranberry juice, when he sees Louis again. He’s bounding toward Liam on the couch and dropping down beside him. He smells like alcohol and someone else’s cigarette. “Leeeeeeeeeeeyum,” he drones on, eyes a little heavy, “I’ve found you.”

“You’ve found me, Lou.” He says, playing along, a small smile on his face because _Louis looks good like this._

“I’ve missed you,” He slumps against Liam’s side, face hot as it presses against Liam’s arm. “Always miss you. Gonna miss you when you’re gone.”

Liam tenses up, his entire body going still. “Louis, I—what are you talking about?” He stutters out, because _honestly, what?_

“You’re going to uni in Poole,” he says matter-of-factly, looking up at Liam through hooded eyes. “I’m right, right?” He giggles.

‘Louis, I—” His brow knits together because he doesn’t know what to say.

“S’okay that you’re leaving me; I mean, I’ll survive, y’know? But I’ll miss you.” His voice is raspy when he lowers it and the music is loud so Liam has to strain to hear him, but manages. “You’ll miss me back, right, Li?”

Liam wants to be sick again and it’s not from alcohol; he’s not drunk, he’s nothing but a broken record—a reoccurring mess of words and feelings and _nothing_ —just absolutely nothing but one fuckup after another.

“M’not going anywhere, Lou.” He’s split in half, a push and a pull. He sighs, “I’m not leaving you. London’s going to be amazing.” His voice breaks, but he doesn’t think Louis notices.

Louis smiles against Liam and Liam can feel his lips against his skin where he’s pressed his face into him. Liam falls towards Louis every fucking time.

-

This is the middle and it is absolute rubbish, Liam thinks—the middle is always the worse part. The middle is sharing a flat with Louis in London and watching him slip between his fingers like cold water, chilling him to the bone as he goes.

-

Sometimes Liam comes home from class and Louis is lying on the couch bundled up in blankets and wearing yesterday’s clothes, his glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose, laughing at something on television and Liam falls down mostly on top of him because he’s tired and just needs to rest for a minute.

Sometimes Liam comes home from class and Louis is lying on the couch bundled up in blankets and wearing yesterday’s clothes, his glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose, laughing at something on television and Liam falls down mostly on top of him because he wants to.

Louis only nudges over a little so Liam can fit between the cushion and Louis’ back and they lie there watching shit TV for a good hour before Liam’s up to cook dinner and then study Shakespeare or Hawthorne.

Louis always complains about how the noodles are too soft for his liking every time Liam makes spaghetti, but he’s smiling when he says it so Liam doesn’t think that he too much minds the texture of the noodles.

“At least I’m feeding you. You’d starve if I were gone,” he says after a bite.

“True,” Louis says around his food, flicking his fringe back, smirking when Liam gives him a disgusted look for talking with food in his mouth.

“Oh, you love me,” he jokes. And well, _yeah_ , Liam thinks. That’s the problem. He loves him too much. Or not enough. He can’t really tell anymore.

-

Sometimes Liam comes home from class and finds Harry on top of Louis on the couch, pressing his hand down on Louis’ hip.

Sometimes Liam comes home from class and finds Harry on top of Louis on _their_ couch and walks right past to his room, slamming his door.

Louis never notices or just doesn’t say anything. Liam’s not sure.

-

(This is the rubbish part—the awful, _awful_ part—where Liam drinks too much wine with his new friend Zayn and comes home to find Harry on top of Louis on their couch and regrets every single second of it.)

Louis is wearing _his_ shirt and Harry is shirt _less_. That’s what sets Liam off first. He walks into his flat, the one he shares with Louis, _their_ flat, and there’s Harry on top of Louis again, pressing harsh kisses to Louis’ neck and Louis fucking moans and Liam’s standing _right there._

He clears his throat, and yeah, maybe he has had a little too much wine, but he’s not drunk and he’s not the one snogging a half-naked Harry Styles on the couch.

 “Louis,” he says, pushing the door to the flat closed. His jumper is in his hand and he’s gripping it tight because he’s upset, his knuckles turning white. He’s standing here and they’re there and—“ _Louis_.” He says again through gritted teeth.

Harry pulls away from Louis quickly, breaking the kiss with a slick wet noise that makes Liam’s ears burn red. “Lia—,” Louis starts, startled and probably a little apologetic, but Liam doesn’t care.

“I think you should leave, Harry,” he says politely as he can, not looking at Harry, but instead staring at Louis with a blank expression.

Harry stands, acts like he might lean down to Louis or say something, but no words come out so he grabs his shirt and pulls it on as he’s walking out. Liam turns around and watches him leave and as the door closes he stares for a minute before turning around to Louis.

His shirt hangs off Louis’ small frame, his fucking collarbones sticking out and prominent and Liam fucking _hates_ him in this moment. He hates him because he wants him, because he can’t have him, because he hasn’t done a single thing about it, because Louis has no boundaries, and doesn’t care that Liam lives here too—this is his flat too, he can’t just do what he wants—hates him most of all though because of the expression on his face which is equal parts sadness, guilt, confusion, and an apology that Liam doesn’t want.

He just stares at Louis for a moment before huffing and walking right past him to his room. He hears Louis’ feet padding across the floor that lets him know that this isn’t over, that he can’t just hide away in his room and not talk to Louis for three days.

He throws his jumper down onto his bed when he gets to his room, starts toeing off his shoes, and unbuttoning his plaid shirt when he hears Louis push his door open. He doesn’t stop what he’s doing, just continues until he has the last of the buttons undone.

“Liam.” Louis says and Liam can’t tell if his voice is angry or sad or _what_. He turns around after a moment to decipher it.

Louis is staring up at him from the door; his jaw set and his stupid fringe almost falling in his eyes.

“You’re not the only one who lives here, you know.” His hands are balled into fists, hanging at his sides lamely. “No matter how much you _think_ you’re the only one who lives here, you’re not Louis.”

“Li, I know,” he starts and his voice is small; _sad_ , Liam decides.

“Obviously not, though, Lou, because I come home all the time and you’re snogging on our couch where I sit, where I watch shitty television with you. As if it’s not a big deal. You can’t just do whatever pleases you, Louis.”

His voice raises and he’s just so fucking angry and sad and he wants to hate Louis so much, because loving him has gotten him absolutely nowhere.

“You’re just—you’re so fucking _selfish_ , Louis. Don’t you ever think about me? _Anyone_ other than yourself?” The words are bitter, like the first shot of tequila he ever had, burning his mouth, making him grit his teeth together.

But he can’t _stop._ “Of course you don’t. I’ve never met someone so foolish and selfish and I’d like to hate you, Louis. D’you know that? I want to hate you. God, you know what, I think I _do_ hate you sometimes.” There’s something in the back of his throat that makes him think he’s choking; a lump he can’t swallow.

He looks at Louis and wishes he hadn’t. He’s so small and fragile and there are tears in his eyes and when Louis’ sad, when Louis’ hurt, he gets angry and even. Suddenly, Liam feels winded.

“Fuck _you_ , Liam.” His bottom lip trembles. The collar of Liam’s shirt is so loose on him that a better part of his chest is bare and he looks so fucking stupid that all Liam can do is laugh. “God, you _arsehole._ Fuck _you._ ”

And then he’s turning away, slamming Liam’s door. The noise makes Liam’s head hurt. He sits down on the edge of his bed and presses his fingers to his eyes to fend off the headache he knows is coming.

He thinks he might cry. He suddenly wants to take back everything he said, but also wants to yell some more, wants Louis to know that he’s sick and he just wants to love him. That’s all he wants—he just wants to love Louis in every way he can. And how does Louis not _know_ that Liam loves him? Somehow, though, that got muffled by everything else somewhere down the line.

Somewhere throughout the years loving Louis turned into wanting needing hating Louis and Liam doesn’t want that. He wants anything but that. He wants _Louis. Needs_ Louis.

He stands up from his bed and before he can second guess himself he’s walking across the hall and knocking on Louis’ locked door.

He doesn’t come to the door. “Louis, open the door, please. I need to talk to you, I— Louis, please just open the door.”

He’s met with silence and he thinks he’s seen films where this happens. The cliché where he sits outside of Louis’ bedroom all night until Louis _has_ to come out to use to the loo or get something to eat or go to class. He slides down until he’s sitting on the floor. “Louis, please, I just—” He sighs.

The door suddenly opens and Liam honestly thought it would take a lot longer for Louis to give in, was _hoping_ that it would take a while so that he would be able to talk himself out of this.

He looks up and Louis’ looking down at him, making him feel small and like a total arsehole and _god,_ he’s really fucked all of this up.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, all he’s thinking is that he just wanted to love Louis right and all at once. And why has he waited so long? _Why?_

He stands. “Lou,” he starts.

“What do you want, Liam?” Louis voice is cold. He has a wall put up that Liam’s never seen before. There’s never been a barrier between Liam and Louis. He doesn’t like it, has messed this up severely.

“ _God_ , I really have messed this up, Lou.” There’s remorse in his voice and sadness and nerves and if he doesn’t get it out now, he honestly doesn’t think he ever will. He’ll just come home from class every day and find Louis on the couch snogging Harry or some other guy or sitting all bundled up in blankets watching shitty TV and he _still_ won’t have Louis to himself, won’t have him in the way that he’s always wanted him.

“I—Louis. _God._ ” He feels like a complete twat, standing in Louis’ doorway, trying to tell him he _loves_ him. He’s sure he’s seen films where this happens also, but with less fumbling around and the main character isn’t Louis. _No one’s_ Louis. _That’s_ the problem.

“No one is you.” Louis face falters, but it’s only because he’s confused. And yeah, Liam is too. “I mean, I—you’re _Louis._ I don’t know anyone else like you; who’s so much themselves that it hurts to be around you. I don’t know anyone like you, Lou. And that frustrates me so badly—has frustrated me since the day you stole my chocolates during free period. I just—you’re my _best_ friend.”

“Liam, I—”

“No, Louis, _listen to me._ I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. I’ve _tried_ to hate you, I have. It would be so much easier if I hated you, if we weren’t best mates, if I didn’t know every little thing about you. I’ve tried to hate you, but it doesn’t work. Because you’re still _you_ and you still recite Dickens to me even though I’ve heard a million times, and you still wear red trousers and curse like a sailor. You’re _you_ , Louis. So I can’t hate you, I don’t _want_ to want to hate you.”

“ _God_ , I don’t know how I got to this place where I want to hate you. I don’t know how I’ve let it get so bad that I’ve sat around and tried to think of reasons to hate you. I just don’t want to hate you, Lou. I want to never hate you. I—I just.”

“You, what?” Louis asks and he feels a little breathless; his eyes glassy, something in his chest stretching and pulling, twisting and knotting.

“I just—I love you, Louis. I _love_ you. I’ve always loved you. _You._ ” Liam feels like there’s a weight that’s been lifted off of his chest, and in its place is one twice the size, twice the trouble. He feels that lump in the back of his throat and _this_ is why he’s kept it a secret. _This_ is why he’s tried to hate Louis, tried to pick him apart when he’s alone and has nothing else to do.

“I love you, too.” Louis says softly.

“ _No_ , Louis, _no._ You don’t love me the way that I love you.” He meets Louis’ blue eyes; they’re clouded over with something he can’t read. And it fucking _hurts._

“I love you, though,” his voice is raspy and almost a whisper and Liam thinks he hears a tear in it, “isn’t that—can’t that be—”

“S’fine, Lou.” Liam feels deflated, doesn’t really know what he expected, but still doesn’t want to lose Louis, _can’t_ lose Louis. “I promise. S’fine.”

Louis is standing right in front of him now, just inches away, wearing Liam’s shirt that is stupidly big on him, his fingertips pressed to the tender skin under Liam’s eyes. Liam can’t figure out what he’s doing until he feels something wet under Louis’ fingers.

He hadn’t realized he’d been crying. He looks at Louis, sees the tears in his eyes too and wants nothing more than for this to have never happened; wishes something stupid like Louis never sitting beside him during free period in year ten.

“Liam,” his voice is soft and he tries to smile, but it’s watery. And _fuck_ , Liam loves him so much it hurts throughout his chest, deep in his ribcage, every time he breathes deeply telling him just _how much_ and _why._

Then Louis is leaning up a little, one hand on Liam’s broad shoulder, the other cupping his face, and he’s pressing his lips to Liam’s softly, cautiously, in a way that makes Liam ache all over.

He presses five kisses to Liam’s lips, his tongue running over the seam of Liam’s mouth, kissing the corner. His lips are warm and soft and Liam _wants_ him with every breath he takes, every piece of him he has left.

Liam pulls away just a little, Louis’ mouth chasing after his. “Lou, no, it’s okay.” His voice is cracking around the edges, the sound burning his own ears. His hands have come to rest on either side of Louis’ face; his thumb rubs in some of the tears that have fallen onto Louis’ cheeks. “You don’t—you don’t have to,” he says sadly as he shakes his head. He doesn’t want pity from Louis.

“I—Liam, _god,_ I’m so sorry, I’m _so_ sorry I can’t—I won’t be able to love you back properly, Li.” His breath is strangled and Liam can feel the way it must burn down his throat from where his fingers rest just below his jaw. “Not in the way that you deserve.” He releases another strangled sob and there are more tears that Liam has to wipe away.

“Lou, it’s okay. I promise,” he tries to muster up a smile for him. “I’m sorry—”

“No, _no_ ,” Louis says in a rush, tightening his grip on Liam. “God, no, don’t you apologize. _Don’t._ _I’m_ sorry. I’m so sorry.” He leans his forehead against Liam’s, his forehead bumping just a bit below, between Liam’s eyebrows. He presses his lips, slowly, softly, against Liam’s lips once more, almost like a ghost’s touch.

“So sorry,” Liam feels him murmur against his lips.

Liam falls every time.

-

It’s not long after that night that Liam moves out. The lease was up right after their first year anyway, and Liam found a place closer to his lecture halls and someone to room with. Louis smiles tentatively, says he’ll have no problem finding a new roommate, someone who doesn’t overcook the noodles for the spaghetti. He chuckles lightly to which Liam smiles.

For a moment everything is okay. Louis is Liam’s best mate from year ten who he spent every day of his summer with, who recites Dickens and Emerson when he’s bored, wears red and green and blue trousers, who watches shitty TV with him—he’s Louis, Liam’s best mate, and he might be a whole lot in love with him, but in this moment it feels like it did before. It feels like Louis never knew and that Liam would’ve just gotten over it one day, like he would’ve suddenly stopped falling in love with Louis and the way he falls asleep with his face in the crook of Liam’s neck.

It feels like everything’s okay and Liam is moving out, but he’s not moving on. He’s not leaving Louis because he’d promised all those days ago that he would stay, that he wouldn’t leave, he wouldn’t.  It’s almost like nothing had gotten in the way.

But then Liam’s standing at the door with the last bag he has, looking around the flat one last time before letting his eyes fall on Louis who’s sitting on the edge of couch, bottom lip between his teeth, chewed raw.

“Lou,” he says with a watery smile. Louis stands and walks to Liam and without a second guess, he wraps his arms around Liam, presses his face into the crook of his neck. Liam sighs against him.

“Love you, Li,” his mouth works against Liam’s neck and Liam almost doesn’t hear him, but god, of course he hears him.

“I know. I love you too, Louis.” His fingers tangle in the hair at the back of Louis’ head.

When Liam leaves he can still feel the burn of Louis’ lips against his neck, the words slipping under his skin and settling down deep in his bones.

-

As he’s walking down to his cab, the wind is bitter and cold as it beats against his cheeks, chilling the tears on his face. He feels empty and lost and wrong. And in twenty years, he thinks, maybe he won’t be laughing after all.


End file.
